


Firsts and Lasts

by simmyschtuff



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 11:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20600018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simmyschtuff/pseuds/simmyschtuff
Summary: When Tony was a kid, he thought Captain America was the ~*dreamiest*~.  Cap finds out. Sex happens.





	Firsts and Lasts

"_Me_?"

"Well. Captain America."

"How on Earth--"

"Those old propaganda posters," Tony explains, and it's such a rarity to see the man embarrassed -- the tips of his ears are actually going pink. "My history professor had the first editions hanging on his wall. One year they were right by my desk."

"Yeah, but what about them?" Steve laughs, he can still remember posing for most of those, feeling surreal on the other side of the easel, still new to the suit, and it had hung like a costume. The first posters, of course, later they just had artists working from memory, exaggerating. But the original ones where Steve had been told to put his hands on his hips, stare off into the distance. Try his best to look _inspiring._ Apparently he'd inspired something, but not quite what they'd been hoping.

"You looked . . . really, really good in them," Tony says vaguely. 

"I'm flattered," Steve says, grinning wide and cheeky, he knows, but can't really help it. There's something incredibly endearing about imagining -- "How old were you again?"

Tony's hiding his face now, in the pillow. He can still see the blush. "Twelve."

Imagining twelve year old Tony Stark, too embarrassed to look at anything _actually_ vulgar or real. Finding . . . relief in old war posters.

"I thought about _Captain America_'s posters, I didn't know Steve Rogers at all, then," Tony apparently feels the need to clarify. "_Captain America_ was . . . safe to think about. He was so far from my reality -- almost a fantasy. I didn't want to think about a _guy_ I actually knew, that made it too . . . real. Alright, your turn."

To be fair, Steve tells him about both Elisa Waters from down the street and James Ashley, who worked at the local grocery, but nothing's going to top Tony's admission. Not even the valentines he anonymously sent James, and then was too embarrassed to own up to, even when caught more or less red handed. Steve teases him lightly, and then the subject drops.

JUST THEN!

There are a few differences between his current Captain America suit and the original one, the one he posed in. 

Mainly practical ones, only noticeable to the person actually wearing it. Lighter armor, tighter pants. There are more pockets in the updated one, and it's thicker, a lot more durable. The face mask is noticeably different, though; rather than wrapping around his chin, it goes straight back, like a swimmer's cap, bits of hair on the back of his neck showing through, as his neck itself is fully bare. The chain mail cuts higher across his chest, the wings are a lot more prominent. He figures the easiest difference to spot will be the shield, though.

It feels odd to be wearing it again, but judging from Tony's slack jawed expression when he opened the door to his office to find Steve leaning on the desk, not nearly as jarring to see it again.

"Hey Tony," he says, lifting his old shield in greeting.

Tony's mouth works once, then a wide smile slides up his face. "Steve you--"

"No, you don't know Steve," Steve says. "I'm Captain America."

Tony actually covers his mouth, quickly closing the door behind him. "Where did you get a hold of that suit?"

"The museum downtown," says Steve. "They need it back at the end of the week."

"The _Smithsonian_?" Tony laughs. "Did you tell them _why_?"

"That it's to fulfill my boyfriend's prepubescent fantasy? No," he says. "But they didn't ask too many questions, oddly."

"Just pubescent. And of course not, it's technically yours," Tony says. Then looks Steve up and down. Then laughs again, a real laugh, ending in a real smile. Steve is immensely pleased with himself for going through with this.

"So, how does this go?" he asks, pushing off Tony's desk, slowly cornering the other man against the door. "Did I say anything in particular? Do I sweep you off your feet?"

"The whole embarrassing scenario?" Tony asks, still smiling. "Well, most of the time I just thought about certain . . . parts of you," he says, running a hand down Steve's chest, abs, pausing suspiciously early in its decent. "And other times it wasn't about sex at all, it was just me helping you save the day. Very King Arthur. You would thank me with a kis-- oh knock it off, I was twelve."

Steve stifles his laughter as best he can. "This had better stop being adorable at some point, or it's going to be difficult to continue," he says.

"Most of the time," Tony says, and the blush from earlier is returning. "I would imagine sucking your cock."

Tony drops to his knees, hands on Steve's belt, and, he's done laughing. 

"Your hands would be in my hair," Tony says, pulling old leather through the loops, tugging it free of the metal. Steve's hands are immediately resting lightly on Tony's head. The gloves are a brighter red that contrasts brilliantly with Tony's dark hair, and a thicker fabric. He can't quite press his fingers together; that had always bothered him, and the fact that he can barely feel the heat of the other man, let alone the strands of his hair, is a slight annoyance.

One he's distracted from, as Tony starts breathing just a little deeper at the sight of Steve's cock, as he usually does. Pulls it free like it's a prize, like it's something to be cherished, careful and deliberate touches. It gets Steve at least half hard every time. "And you'd say something about how good I am at this," he says, then mouths the head. Steve hisses tightly, fingers flexing in his hair.

Tony moans the moment he gets it in his mouth, deep and appreciative. Steve is fully erect almost immediately. "Tony . . . you're amazing," he breathes, sincerely. Tony _is_ good at this, and half the fun is watching his expression; practically euphoric as he takes it in deeper, running his tongue along the bottom, against a vein. Tony pulls back, and Steve has to clamp down on the urge to thrust his hips forward. 

"I wanted to taste your come, I wanted to swallow it, you'd -- be impressed," Tony says, eyes half lidded, then licks all the way up one side of his cock. 

"You were twelve?" Steve chokes out.

"Twelve in a boy's boarding school," Tony says, and takes Steve back into his mouth, back into that wet, fantastic warmth, swallowing practically all of him, and Steve has no idea how he manages to take it so -- so deep without choking, without his teeth scratching, even a little. The inch or so he can't manage, his hand comes up and grips firmly, his second one fondling Steve's balls, and he's coming with a loud moan, hands holding tight to dark, thick hair.

Tony's eyes widen; Steve's not usually that easy, but he's being given a ridiculous amount of motivation. Still, he swallows it all, breathing rapidly through his nose.

He helps Tony to his feet, then against the door, kissing as deep as he can manage, hand gripping the back of his head tightly. "Impressive," Steve says when they finally come up for air, and Tony looks ridiculously pleased with himself. "Please tell me this ends with me fucking you." Even with super stamina, it'll take a few minutes to recover fully, but lord, he's practically aching with the need to fuck the man in front of him silly.

"Bad news," he winces. "Twelve year old Tony didn't enjoy the thought of anal. Blow jobs were usually as far as it got."

"We don't have to tell him," Steve decides, going in for a second kiss, lifting Tony clear off the ground and the three steps to the desk.

Tony spreads his legs the moment he's set down, and Steve wasn't the only one who'd enjoyed the earlier performance. He pulls Steve between his thighs, and half smiles, fingering the mask. "It's so different."

"Really?" Steve asks, reaching for the lube that's on constant standby in Tony's office now, yanking off his left glove. He honestly hadn't noticed much of one. It feels the same.

"Around the eyes," he nods, shimming his pants down. "It's a different cut. More . . . old fashioned."

Steve knows how much he tries to avoid using the term when describing something to Steve -- not that it's annoying, but it literally tells him nothing, when you're referring from something of his time. He waves it off. "So, what about anal sex turned you off? Just . . . the obvious?"

"The obvious," Tony says, laying back, lifting his hips for Steve's slick fingers. "Plus, it just seemed painful. I was almost fifteen before figur--aahh," Tony's eyes shut, thrusting back on Steve's hand, hips moving in uncontrolled jerks. "Yes, before figuring that out." 

It's ridiculous, how hard Tony gets him, and how fast. Leaning over the man, resting his weight in a fist beside his head, Steve stretches him. Watches his expressions, from tense with discomfort, to pleasure, to desperation.

"Get in me," Tony breathes, hips thrusting down to get more, but finding nothing thicker, harder on Steve's hand. His eyes stay closed, head to the side. "I'm ready, I'm ready, get _in_ me."

And Steve does. Tony's legs over his shoulders, inch by inch, wrapping one hand around Tony's previously ignored cock, he slowly forces his way into the man, into his heat, into clenching warmth. Blindingly good. "Perfect, Tony," he grits out. God, and it is. 

"Cap," Tony gasps, fingers flexing uselessly against the smooth table finish. Steve falters; he's not sure Tony's ever called him that during sex. Sure enough, Tony's eyes are open, fixed on Steve, on his mask. His different mask, the one he fantasized about -- the one he idolized, and Jesus, normally that makes Steve feel awkward, uncomfortable, but now . . . _Jesus_, looking at Tony's pinking face, slack mouth, he feels ten feet tall and indestructible. 

In one more thrust, he's in the rest of the way. Not too early, but he's normally more careful, slower, and Tony's breath hitches in surprise as he's folded in half. Thrusting in brutal time with his strokes, both firm, both relentless, he fucks Tony.

"Oh God," Tony chokes, sounding breathless, one arm reaching out, looking for something to brace against, finding nothing. His head is tipped back, eyes glazed over. "Oh God, Steve," and that just fuels him, he's thrusting in and _in_, not quite violent, but with as much strength as he feels safe using. Tony's going to be bruised, Tony's going to be sore, Tony's going to remember this, feel it.

Tony's hands find the back of Steve's neck, nails digging into the flesh that's exposed in this uniform, rocking in time as much as he can with so little leverage. Steve takes the hand he's been using to prop Tony's hip and brings it to his chin, forcing it back down, and smothers the steady stream of moans and gasps and wails with a kiss, claiming his mouth. He thrusts his tongue in the same time grips particularly hard on Tony's cock, shoves in like an assault. Tony comes. 

With a wild moan that breaks the kiss, throwing his head back again, he comes all over Steve and his antique uniform. 

Clenching down hard on his cock, he milks a second orgasm out of Steve, and it's Tony that makes a soft, high noise as he's filled with Steve's come. 

They're both breathing too heavily for a kiss proper, so Steve settles with nuzzling Tony's neck, more panting heavily against it than kissing or nipping, but the feel of his still rapid pulse is satisfying enough anyway.

"Good lord, Cap," Tony pants after a moment, sounding dazed. Steve agrees. He's finding it hard to stay upright; that second orgasm was a punch to the gut, but there's nowhere to collapse without squishing important Tony parts.

After a moment of propping himself over Tony's well used body with a shaking arm, he pulls them both to the floor, Tony still in his lap.

He rests a heavy head on Steve's shoulder. "You said you have it all week?"

"All week," Steve says, resting his own on Tony's. "I hope you know a good dry cleaner."

"The best," Tony nods, then, idly, "I wonder if they're still waiting."

"Who?"

"My board. I just left the meeting to get some specs."

Steve stiffens, ready to stand. "We haven't been that long, you could probably catch a few of them."

"Don't worry about it," Tony says, settling against Steve's chest completely. "They're used to it."

"Still," Steve says, but relaxes against the bottom of the desk.

"Still," Tony says, then smiles. "All week."


End file.
